


Dragonsong

by Zoisite Ruby (andadobeslabs)



Series: In Time [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Action/Adventure, Attempted Kidnapping, Awkward Romance, Banter, F/F, Future Fic, In Time OCs, Original Character-centric, So many dragoons, Spoilers for everything, Teenagers, Unambiguous Warrior of Light
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-02-22 10:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13165071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andadobeslabs/pseuds/Zoisite%20Ruby
Summary: Ichelle has always known, in theory, that the peace in Ishgard is a delicate one. This doesn't stop her from being surprised when it all falls apart.Unfortunately, as they try to pick up the pieces, a certain young Scion is there to remind her just how much she doesn't know.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline-wise, this takes place between chapters 27 and 28 of In Time. That said, this wasn't written with the expectation of In Time having been read first, or at all.
> 
> The primary deviation between this fic and In Time is that the Warrior of Light is named. The inspiration behind this story was to tie my main (Zoisite) and all of my alts together in the universe I'd already created here, for RP purposes... and hopefully, write a compelling story in doing so. 
> 
> This will be updated every other day, alternating with my other fic, Duality, which is more direct In Time continuation.
> 
> Enjoy!

Ichelle sits on the floor, cross-legged, with her spear in her lap and a bottle of the sticky sap Estinien insists she coats it with every fortnight when she hears an urgent knock on her front door. She briefly wonders who would be knocking this late in the evening before her father drops what he’s doing in the kitchen to answer it. He glares at Ichelle for not even pretending to consider doing it herself. 

“Can I help-” Ichelle can’t see what’s happening on the porch, but her father’s demeanor changes.

A breathy laugh from the other side of the door follows, accompanied by an attempt at a suggestive “I don’t know, _can you_?” 

Artoirel sighs and swings the door open, allowing the young, blonde, elezen woman to limp into their foyer, clutching her bleeding side and collapsing on the nearest piece of furniture she can find. “Should I contact your mother?”

“No!” She quickly protests, curling in on herself. “I don’t suppose Zois is around-”

“She’s in Mor Dhona.” He explains before staring at Ichelle expectantly. “Can you go get some towels and hot water?”

Ichelle sighs and pushes her spear to the side before standing. The teenager on the couch groans, “It’s really not necessary-”

“Nonsense. I’ll contact your uncle, in the meantime.” Despite protests, Artoirel draws his hand up to his linkpearl and mumbles quietly. After a second glare, Ichelle scurries beyond the kitchen to grab some clean towels and fills a bowl half with boiling water and half with room temperature. When she returns, her father is nowhere to be found.

“I really don’t need-” When Ichelle kneels down next to the girl and wets a towel, she raises an eyebrow. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Erleanne.” Erleanne looks up at her with golden eyes, and Ichelle tries to ignore the part of her that suddenly wants to panic.

“Ichelle.” She pulls Erleanne’s hand away to look at the blood, but it’s hard to tell with the shirt still on. She sighs. “Can you lift your shirt?”

Erleanne chuckles and immediately looks like she regrets it, clearly in pain. “I think I can handle that much.” There’s a deep puncture wound on her side, probably from a dagger, but there’s a slice across her ribcage, some of which is still covered by her shirt, even after she’s pulled it up. She folds a piece of towel and holds it to the puncture wound, but she’ll need to see the extent of the slice before she decides if she should be worried about it.

“I uh.” Ichelle starts, awkwardly. “I think you probably need to take that off.”

Erleanne smirks through her grimace. “You’re awfully determined to see me without my shirt on.”

“I could just let you die here,” Ichelle suggests, and Erleanne pulls her shirt over her head. Ichelle immediately blushes... something that she can tell Erleanne noticed by the sudden upturn of her lips. Trying to stay professional, she cleans the entire cut the best she can. It’s relatively shallow, compared to the other wound. She also notices that beyond these two injuries, her skin is unmarred by scars. Ichelle assumes this means that, despite her attempts to seem nonchalant, Erleanne has likely never experienced wounds of this gravity before.

Ichelle grabs the now discarded shirt and hands it back to Erleanne, who tries to pull it on while also applying pressure to her side. If it weren’t so gruesome, Ichelle might have laughed. “I take it you’re not a healer.” Erleanne jokes.

“You’re awfully appreciative.” Ichelle takes the bloody towels to exchange for clean ones, feeling a little bit guilty for just leaving them on the floor. She lingers in the other room for a while, watching Erleanne from a distance, before curiosity gets the best of her. “What even happened?”

Artoirel interrupts, and Ichelle is grateful that he chose now instead of when the other girl was shirtless to do so. “I spoke with Alphinaud, he and Zoisite are on their way.” He turns to Ichelle, “I will fetch your mother from the Manufactory. She might be able to help as well.”

Ichelle supposes this means that Erleanne is a Scion. Alphinaud and Zoisite have always been somewhat permanent fixtures of Ichelle’s life, Zoisite a close friend of her parents’ and Alphinaud a close friend of her mentor, Estinien, but while she’s heard stories of the other Scions, she’s never met them. Ichelle recalls Alphinaud mentioning that he had nieces, and Zoisite indicating that one of them had moved to Ishgard, but she only just connected that these stories were about the teenager in front of her.

Zoisite bursts through the door, not even knocking. Ichelle stands and steps back, not wanting to get in the path of the pink-haired midlander who, she knows from experience, is a force to be reckoned with when angry. “I leave you alone for one evening-”

“Can we save the lecture?” Erleanne whines and Zoisite sighs as she takes what was Ichelle’s spot, kneeling in front of the Erleanne. “Something is going on around here…”

Alphinaud follows quickly after, more concerned than annoyed, unlike his partner. He looks at Ichelle, still a bit covered in blood, and back at Erleanne, a lot covered in blood, but still alive, and offers Ichelle an impressed nod. “What a shame your sister couldn’t be here, she’s a much better healer than I am.” He chuckles as he flips through his grimoire and casts Physick. “You will most certainly have a scar.”

“So will Ishgard if we don’t deal with-” She groans as Alphinaud draws the rest of his magic out of her, leaving her with a wound perfectly capable of healing with only rest and time. Panting, she finishes her sentence, “these _conspirators_.”

“Elaborate.” Alphinaud demands and Erleanne nods, trying to force herself into a sitting position.

“Some of the younger members of the high houses… the anniversary of the war’s end…” Erleanne pants, dropping her calm facade. “There are plans to assassinate Aymeric and Vidofnir.”

The Warrior of Light furrows her brow and lifts a determined hand, but Alphinaud stops her. “I don’t know that violence is the answer, just yet.”

Zoisite rolls her eyes at Alphinaud, “It’s too late for that. Your niece is injured.” Looking to Erleanne, “Where did you say you last saw them?”

“The Central Highlands, near Dragonhead,” Erleanne explains and Ichelle wonders if her uncle is aware of this. There must be some significance to choosing Fortemps territory for such a meeting. Darkly, she figures it might have something to do with Emmanellain’s already weak control over their portion of the Central Highlands. When her father finds out, he will be furious.

The Warrior of Light looks lost in thought for a moment before turning to Erleanne with pity, “We will take care of it. Thank you for your help so far, Erleanne.” Erleanne shakes her head in protest, but the Warrior of Light gives her a stern glare and Erleanne backs down, crossing her arms and nodding politely.

The Warrior of Light stands, brushing off her pants as she leaves the house, Alphinaud trailing behind her explaining something too incoherent for Ichelle to understand.

The two teenagers sit in silence for a long while, Ichelle gazing off into the distance and Erleanne picking at her freshly healed wounds. Erleanne is the first to break the silence.

“I may not seem appreciative.” Erleanne starts, pushing her sweat-soaked white hair out of her face and behind her ear before smiling at Ichelle, “But I am. Thank you for your help.”

“I wasn’t about to let you die in my foyer.” Ichelle brushes off the compliment, trying to hide how suddenly nervous she is.

“Still. I owe you one.” Erleanne looks past Ichelle and towards Ichelle’s spear on the ground, half coated in sap. “I could make some adjustments to your spear if you’d like.”

“I like it simple. It’s traditional.” Ichelle frowns and feels the need to defend herself but the elezen smirks.

“You dragoons and your traditions.” Ichelle follows Erleanne’s eyes to the doorway, the other former Azure Dragoon standing within it, he glances between the two of them and smirks.

“Aye, that is our way. Among other things.”

“What?” Ichelle asks, and he just chuckles and shakes his head. She sometimes wishes he wore his traditional dragoon gear, at least it would shield her from his infuriating facial expressions.

“You’re needed. Suit up and meet me at the Aetheryte.” Estinien leaves without another word, slamming the door behind him.

Ichelle collects her gear from her room, putting on every piece except her helmet. When she returns, Erleanne is sitting forward, looking as if she might attempt to stand.

“Will you be alright if I leave you alone?” Erleanne smiles and nods.

“Be safe.” Erleanne offers, “You can’t take care of both of us.”

“I wasn’t planning on _taking care_ of you.” Ichelle puts on her helmet and grabs her spear, affixing it to her armor. 

“That’s a shame.” Ichelle ignores the comment and steps out the door, thankful the helmet is hiding the bright shade of red believes she must be turning.

* * *

 

_A midlander woman with dark pink hair stands atop a ledge, “Hear me, brothers and sisters! Do not be fooled by the honeyed words of the Dravanians! The peace they promise is but a prelude to slaughter!” The audience, a collection of knights and civilians, raise their heads in interest. “Remember your husbands and wives, never returned from war! Your children torn apart by fang and claw. All your loved ones, shown no mercy! Does not your heart cry out for vengeance? Your blood boil at the injustice? Remember the face of your enemy, brothers and sisters! Remember it and strike back!”_

_ Emmanellain looks on nervously before making a decision. He turns to the archer next to him, “You there! Don’t just stand around gawping! Do something, man! Stop her!” _

_ The knight, panicked, “Yes, yes, my lord!” The knight quickly raises his bow and fires an arrow into the woman’s arm, and as she staggers, the onlookers gape in horror.  _

_“See! See here the true nature of the highborn! With lies and deception they lead us to our doom, and dare we raise our voices in dissent- death is our reward!” The woman closes her eyes and shakes her head, “This is the choice they have given us, brothers and sisters! Death by dragon’s fang or death by nobleman’s command. Death to all we hold dear! I spit on your choices, noblemen! You will take no more from me… no more! NO MORE!”_

_ The archer strikes her again, this time in the gut, and as she collapses, Emmanellain’s face contorts into horror himself, and regret. “What have you done?” _

_ “I- I only did as you ordered, my lord…” The knight explains, only further stoking the hatred in the onlookers. Emmanellain cowers defensively. _

_ “I gave no such order! I did not! I… I never meant for anyone to…”  _

Ichelle doesn’t even recall losing consciousness, but she wakes up in a busy infirmary. She can hear talking and shouting in varying levels of urgency, but because of her disorientation, she can’t make out any voices individually. When she opens her eyes, everything is just a light-filled blur. Instead, she groans and sits up, thankful to know she has no open wounds on her upper body.

She blinks a few times, and the blurriness fades. She’s able to distinguish her father and uncle’s faces, eyes wide at her sudden wakefulness. She looks around to see if her mother is present, but she’s not really surprised when she isn’t. Emmanellain massages the bridge of his nose as if he too is suffering from a headache.

“How long have I been out?” She flinches at the sound of her own voice.

“As far as the chirurgeons can tell, only a few hours. As far as I know, Alphinaud, Estinien, and Zoisite have not yet awoken.” Artoirel explains, and Emmanellain studies her curiously.

“What happened?” She asks and Emmanellain shrugs.

“Not sure, I found the four of you unconscious near Skyfire Locks.”

Ichelle tries to remember. She recalls being surprised by Ciavant de Dzemael’s strength, a boy she had grown up with. He was never much of a fighter, even wrestling as kids, she was able to beat him without much effort, even with his additional two summers. He raised his staff, and the four of them were blown back instantly, their weapons clattering around them. From there, she fell unconscious. “He was… stronger than I thought.”

“Who?” Her father raises his eyebrows, and Ichelle shakes her head.

“Ciavant. He was able to knock us all back with one spell, and he didn’t even need to cast it for long.”

“I can hardly say I’m surprised that House Dzemael is behind this.” Emmanellain grumbles and Ichelle sighs.

“It wasn’t just Dzemael, there was a Durendaire woman and a few members of the extended Fortemps and Haillenarte House as well… they just lacked the strength of Ciavant.”

Erleanne makes herself known, having been standing outside the room, presumably until she heard something worth interjecting into. “They seek revenge for the restructuring of the state after the end of the Dragonsong war.” Now that she’s standing and seemingly uninjured, Ichelle can see that she’s actually quite short, despite her large personality. She could not be any older than Ichelle herself, at sixteen summers old, even though she presents herself as if she’s much older. “The common folk have largely come around to the change and embrace it, particularly because of your mother’s involvement.” Erleanne points to Ichelle, who nods. Her mother had been particularly instrumental in the restructuring of the government, thanks to her upbringing in the Brume. “But deep down, the common folk have never quite forgotten the war, nor forgiven the Dravanians. I’d imagine the same is true in the inverse.”

“Are you suggesting that the youths of the High Houses have joined forces with resentful Dravanians?” Artoirel asks for clarification and Erleanne nods. 

“At the very least with the intent to stage an attack, to re-instigate a conflict between Ishgard and the Dravanians. Possibly to take revenge against Aymeric and House Fortemps directly. It’s difficult to tell.”

“It explains the unusual strength.” Ichelle offers, “Estinien told me of his experiences with the Eye of Nidhogg, and how it so often managed to take control of him.” Worried now, she sighs. “Estinien is one of the strongest men I know, if even he couldn’t safely use the eye, I can’t see it ending well for Ciavant.”

“Fortunately, this is all still speculation.” Her father, ever the voice of reason, stops them from following this train of thought too far. “Get some rest, and we will discuss this later.”

Ichelle considers protesting but lacks the energy. Instead, she nods. Artoirel kisses Ichelle on the forehead and leaves, his brother as well, leaving the two girls alone, much to Ichelle’s displeasure.

“Did I not order you to stay safe?” Erleanne jokes.

“My apologies, I hadn’t realized my childhood friend would suddenly come into possession of a dragon's eye and use it to knock me and many of my betters unconscious in a matter of seconds.”

“Perhaps you should have.” Erleanne laughs, seemingly no worse for the wear from her own injuries. “I wish I could have seen the fight. If only to see if you’re half as talented with the lance as I am.”

“You’re a lancer?”

“I was before I discovered firearms. I have since abandoned any intent of becoming a dragoon.”

“So you’re a machinist.” 

“Don’t say it with so much disdain, _princess_.” Erleanne smirks at Ichelle’s sudden annoyance.

“I’m no princess. The High Houses are hardly more than figureheads in Ishgard.” Ichelle sneers, “Plus, who are you to call me a princess? You’re a Leveilleur!”

Ichelle notices she hit a nerve when Erleanne scoffs, “I am _not_! I am an Augurelt. My mother was a Leveilleur, I will admit as much, but my father is no noble.”

“Ladies.” Aymeric clears his throat, interrupting the escalating argument. “Settle down.”

“You’re safe?” Ichelle asks, genuinely surprised to see him. He raises an eyebrow.

“Did you expect otherwise?”

“You were sort of the target,” Erleanne explains, and he laughs.

“My enemies would hardly assassinate me in the privacy of my own home. Any benefit to be gained from my death would be done with a large audience. I will be avoiding any such public events until this menace is dealt with.”

“That seems reasonable.” Ichelle accepts his answer, but Erleanne bristles.

“So what are we doing to deal with it?”

“ _We_ aren’t. When Alphinaud and Zoisite awake, we will recruit the help of the Scions. In the meantime, I have a much safer task for you, when you’ve recovered, Ichelle.”

“Anything I can do to help.”

“Dravanians, for all of their wisdom, have yet to master the usage of a linkpearl. It is for that reason that a party must venture to Anyx Trine to warn Vidofnir to avoid Ishgard until it is safe again.”

“So instead of using this event as the perfect opportunity to lure these conspirators out of their hiding place and into the open so that they can be dealt with, you’re going to hide?” Erleanne questions and both Ichelle and Aymeric are taken aback by her candor.

“Part of being a leader is knowing when to restrain yourself for others’ safety. I would gladly risk my own life, but I cannot make that decision for Vidofnir, especially not after everything she has done for our people.” Erleanne crosses her arms, unsatisfied with that answer. “I would ask that you bring Erleanne along, Ichelle. As an engineer, she will prove invaluable in your journey. Her access to air transportation will be helpful as well.”

“Why not just send Erleanne, then?” Ichelle wonders out loud.

“If Estinien were awake and able to have input in this decision, I am certain he’d agree with me. As your mentor and teacher, he has shared with me his expectations for you and your role moving forward.” Ichelle smiles smugly, “But as you’ve lived your life in the comfort of Fortemps Manor, you can hardly be offered additional responsibility without seeing the nation and peoples we have been working to protect.” Erleanne snickers, her earlier point only further supported by Aymeric herself. “Not that you are perfect, Erleanne. Zoisite has expressed concerns that you tend to put yourself in unnecessary danger. Perhaps Ichelle will teach you some restraint.”

Ichelle takes the opportunity the snicker, this time.

“So when do we leave?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Somehow, when Aymeric mentioned air transportation, this wasn’t what I pictured.” Ichelle looks at the airship. It was a little unfair to airships to call what is in front of her one of them, though.

“That’s just because you’ve never seen it fly.” Erleanne pats the nose cone affectionately, “This has been a many-year labor of love from the Ironworks. That’s not even including my adjustments.”

“Adjustments…” Ichelle eyes the four unsettlingly small rotors protruding from its side.

“The original design had some kind of limiter… so that had to go, of course.” Erleanne smiles, “And, obviously I extended the seating bench to allow a second passenger.”

“Is there a reason we are taking this and not an actual airship?” Ichelle questions, again, and Erleanne stares at her, apparently finding the answer obvious.

“Because it’s more efficient on fuel, something that’s sort of difficult to find in the more undeveloped parts of Dravania…”

Ichelle sighs, running her hand through her hair as she tries to come up with a plausible excuse to turn back on this now. Maybe she could convince Estinien to override his partner’s judgment and allow her to go alone.

Alphinaud, half-heartedly overseeing their preparations, interjects. “To this day I have only seen Erleanne’s inventions fail a handful of times, and none of them fatally.”

“Have any of them been airships?”

“Admittedly, the airship portion of her career consisted of much more oversight.”

“Thank you for your confidence, uncle.” Seemingly satisfied with her concerningly short inspection, Erleanne shoves her bag into the small storage compartment under the seat.

Ichelle pulls on the shoulder straps of her bag, not sure that she intends to part with it, even if it would go into a designated storage space. “So is everything ready to go?”

“I’d say so. Unless you need to take care of your goodbyes, we really ought to leave soon if we plan on making it to Falcon’s Nest before sundown, especially in this weather.” Erleanne crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, expecting Ichelle to suddenly change her mind.

Ichelle shakes her head, “I bid farewell to my parents this morning. I’m ready if you are.”

She takes a moment to look out, off the end of the skydocks, before she agrees to leave. It was odd to her, she had always expected that, if she were to venture outside of Ishgard and the Central Highlands, that it would be with her family or Estinien. Not someone she’d only just met.

“Are you coming, or not?” Erleanne asks one more time, and Ichelle nods.

“Stay safe, dear niece,” Alphinaud suggests, and Erleanne laughs as Ichelle boards the craft.

“You know I won’t.” Ichelle awkwardly shuffles herself around in the seat, trying to fit into the groove without touching the girl in front of her. “I don’t bite.” Erleanne impatiently grabs Ichelle’s wrists and wraps them around her waist. “Can’t have the princess of House Fortemps falling off the back of my airship and plummeting to her death.”

“I’m not-” Without warning, the machine comes to life, and within seconds, Ichelle is looking back at Ishgard, her home, growing harder and harder to see, until it’s completely obscured by fog.

* * *

When they finally land at Falcon’s Nest, Ichelle is deeply grateful for solid ground. She practically allows herself to collapse as soon as she dismounts the ship, thankful that it isn’t moving beneath her.

“You’ll get used to it,” Erleanne assures her, and Ichelle looks up at the girl, still looking just as effortlessly beautiful as she did before they left. Ichelle, on the other hand, felt as if she could puke, her face is raw from a combination of ice in the atmosphere and her own tears from a few bouts of sheer terror, and her hair is so obnoxiously windswept that it possibly doubled in volume. She tries to pretend her reaction to this realization is one of admiration and jealousy.

“I hope I never have to.” Finding the courage to stand when Erleanne offers a hand to help her up, she wobbles on her feet for a moment. After a failed attempt to smooth down her hair, she changes the topic. “Time to prepare for some incredibly dishonest diplomacy.”

“Why is that?” Erleanne looks genuinely confused, and Ichelle enjoys the opportunity to look at her with the same annoyed disdain that the elezen had used on her plenty in the past few hours.

“Because Falcon’s Nest is under the joint control of House Durendaire and House Dzemael, neither of which are particularly fond of House Fortemps. Nor us of them, frankly.” Ichelle explains, “But hopefully they are not so courageous as to admit so to my face. I’d wager that we're offered a meal and a place to sleep for the night within bells of our arrival..” Leaving the ship in the landing area, Ichelle makes her way towards the seat of command.

“Are all of you Ishgardians so hostile?” Erleanne's tone implies she's kidding, though Ichelle knows she’s only half joking.

“There’s political bickering in the other city-states as well.” Ichelle argues but Erleanne harumphs judgementally.

“But no one in Gridania or Limsa Lominsa would let someone starve or freeze to death over an abstract family feud.”

“No, but they would if that someone lacked coin. Is it really all that different?” Erleanne shrugs at that, letting Ichelle take the lead.

Ichelle swings the door open and for a moment, Travonne de Durendaire, the steward of Falcon’s Nest, ignores the interruption. Until Erleanne impolitely clears her throat, earning a stern look from Ichelle.

Equally as artificial as the smile on Ichelle’s face, the dark-skinned, auburn-haired woman behind the desk smiles sweetly at Ichelle, “Lady Ichelle, what brings you to my hamlet?”

“Just passing through.” Ichelle has always been intimidated by Travonne, a handful of summers her senior and as cunning as she is well-mannered. Unlike the Dzemael boys, the Durendaire heirs were calculating and intentional, not allowing their emotions to get in the way of what they saw as good business.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Travonne looks at the girls in a way that may seem sympathetic, but that Ichelle interprets as patronizing. She tries to contain her annoyance and shakes her head.

“Not exactly. We were hoping to set up camp nearby if you’d allow it.”

“Nonsense.” Travonne beckons over one of her guards, “See to it that these two ladies are taken care of.”

The guard nods and Travonne smiles at them, and Ichelle can see from the corner of her eye that Erleanne looks suspicious, which she can’t really blame her for.

“I appreciate your kindness, Lady Travonne.” Ichelle can’t bring herself to make eye contact with the woman, her gaze too intense Ichelle to meet without faltering.

“It’s my pleasure. Be sure to send your father my regards, when next you see him.” She nods, a clear dismissal, and the guard looks at the two of them expectantly.

Unable to determine the guard’s gender, Ichelle settles on a neutral address. “Lead the way, my friend.” When Ichelle looks back at Erleanne, her expression is unreadable. She slows her walking pace to allow some distance between the two of them and the guard as he leads them back into the courtyard. “What?”

“That was just painful to watch,” Erleanne confesses.

“I beg your pardon?” Ichelle immediately reacts defensively.

“I kept expecting her to send us to the dungeons or something.”

Ichelle chuckles, “She’s unscrupulous, but not evil.”

“Remind me to stay out of this noble drama in the future.” Erleanne speeds up, leaving Ichelle trailing behind as they enter a tower. When the guard shows them to a room, Ichelle thanks them again, and shuts the door as soon as they turn to walk away.

As soon as the door closes, she relaxes, pretending Erleanne isn’t there with her and allowing her remaining adrenaline and anxiety to melt away as she leaned against the cool wood of the door.

“One bed,” Erleanne observes curiously.

“You can have it, but next time we find ourselves in this situation, the bed is mine.” Too tired to argue, Ichelle lets her bag fall to the ground and takes one of the two pillows from the bed and tosses it on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Erleanne doesn’t move from her spot standing hear the door, and when Ichelle looks at her, she’s trying to suppress a laugh.

“What is so funny?”

“Just…” Erleanne breathes deeply, “I make you so uncomfortable that you’d rather sleep on the floor than share a bed with me?”

“It’s not-”

Giggling, “Either you find me completely repulsive or immensely attractive.”

Ichelle huffs, “It’s probably dark outside, we should get some sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” Still smiling, Erleanne continues to taunt, “Did I offend you?”

Instead of dignifying that with a response, Ichelle lays on the floor and curls up in front of the fire, facing away from the source of her annoyance. Hearing some footsteps and the creak of the bed frame, Ichelle breaks her silence. “Goodnight.”

“You too.”

* * *

_“I know Cid would never admit it.” A tall man with an elezen build but a distinctly hyur face stands across from Erleanne in some sort of workshop, “But I believe you’ve outgrown the Ironworks.” Zoisite is there as well, sitting on a bench and fidgeting with a piece of rubber._

_Erleanne crosses her arms, “But I like it here, and I am still pretty terrible at building airships.”_

_“But you’re above average in weapon crafting.” He brushes his blonde hair out of his eyes, revealing his third eye. Garlean. “Your talents would go much farther in Ishgard, at the Skysteel Manufactory, I’d imagine.”_

_“I’d have to leave everyone behind.”_

_“Not everyone.” Zoisite interjects, “I’d come along. Estinien has requested my assistance in the assessment of a potential Azure Dragoon replacement.”_

_“Aye.” The man’s face softens, and Erleanne appears genuinely surprised by it, “And as much as we tend to disagree on many fundamental principles of engineering, Hilda is almost as competent a mentor as I could ever be.”_

_Zoisite’s lip turns up at that, “Plus, Edrianne has benefitted so much from moving away. I can’t imagine you’d want to stay in your childhood bedroom in Mor Dhona for the rest of time.”_

_Erleanne shrugs._

_“You don’t have to make this decision now, but you should consider it.” The man finishes, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Talk it over with your parents, think about where you really see yourself in the future and let me know.”_

_He saunters off, leaving Zoisite and Erleanne alone._

_“It’s not like Nero to be so-”_

_“Constructive?” Erleanne interrupts and Zoisite snickers._

_“I was going to say affectionate.” The hyur puts down the rubber piece. “He and Cid have really grown protective of you, so it says a lot that he’s willing to sacrifice you to Hilda.”_

_“I know that.” Erleanne sighs. “I’ll think about it.”_

* * *

Ichelle finds the fireplace cold and groans, curling farther in on herself.

“You can join me, you know.” She doesn’t even have to turn around to know that the elezen has a smug look on her face.

“What are you doing awake?” Ichelle mutters.

“Headache woke me up.” Ichelle hears shuffling and rolls over to see Erleanne laying up against the wall, holding up her blanket to show off the ample room left on the bed.

Ichelle stares intensely at the fireplace for a few more moments, willing it to re-light, and when it inevitably doesn’t, she stands.

She climbs into bed with her pillow in hand and turns away from her bedmate. “You know, it would be easier to warm up if we-”

“Don’t push it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, I had to google "synonyms for hearth" to remember the word "fireplace"...


	3. Chapter 3

They land on a rocky outcrop near Ashpool, thanks to Ichelle’s insistence that she sees the “Dreaming Dragon” up close. Erleanne looks at the map her uncle annotated and the passage before them. On the map, there is a very clear note,“ _take the tunnel under the mountains, it will let out in the Chocobo Forest, which leads to the rest of the Dravanian Forelands_.” Erleanne looks at the mountain range and scoffs, tucking the map back into her coat pocket.

Ichelle stares at the strange protrusion in the middle of the lake with awe. Erleanne snorts at how she looks like a child opening a present during the Starlight Celebration, her eyes wide and her smile wider. When she notices that Erleanne is watching her, she doesn’t even hide it.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She asks and Erleanne chuckles.

“Honestly it looks like a weird rock.”

“You’ve heard the story though, yes?” When Erleanne doesn’t respond, Ichelle continues. “It’s said that a dragon was incapacitated by Ishgardian mages after being drawn here by dragoons. In its anger, it created so much fire and ash that it sealed itself. The Calamity covered it in ice.” She frowns, “It’s said to still be alive in there, sleeping. What a tragic fate.”

Erleanne resists the urge to laugh, the utterly earnest look on her traveling partner’s face making her feel a bit guilty. She also refrains from pointing out how ridiculous that sounds, and how Ishgardians are historically known for creative lies. Instead, she shrugs. “I know nothing about it.”

After a deep breath, Ichelle turns to Erleanne, apparently satisfied with her brief sightseeing excursion. “Sorry, I’ve just only ever seen this from Falcon’s Nest. It’s fascinating to see it up close.”

Realization washes over Erleanne, “Have you never been this far away from Ishgard before?”

Ichelle shakes her head, “Unless you count the Central Highlands. I’ve been to Dragonhead a handful of times.”

“But don’t your people control this area?” Erleanne looks confused.

“The Western Highlands are under the control of Dzemael and Durendaire.” Ichelle shrugs, “I believe we used to have control of the Dusk Vigil, or at least our allies did.”

“You’ve never been curious?”

“Of course I’ve been.” Ichelle bristles, “But I have my responsibilities to attend to in Ishgard, as a dragoon.”

“And as a _noblewoman_.”

“Can you give it a rest already?” Finally losing her patience, Ichelle snaps. “You work under my mother, she’s technically a bloody Countess! Does she seem like a typical noblewoman to you?”

“Why does it bother you so much?”

“Does it matter?” Ichelle shuts down the conversation, walking back to the airship. “Can we just get on with what we are actually out here for?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Erleanne glances at the tunnel one last time, debating heeding her uncle’s advice for the last time. She shakes her head, nothing interesting ever comes from following the rules.

* * *

Ichelle blinks and does a quick inventory of her injuries. Her back definitely hurts, but that is to be expected considering that she fell directly on it, on top of her lance. Her neck as well. She can wiggle all of her fingers and all of her toes, bend her knees and elbows. It doesn’t hurt to breathe, so her ribs must not be broken.

She forces herself to sit up, despite the soreness, and looks around at her surroundings. It’s warm, unusually warm, especially in contrast to the frozen tundra they had just left. Erleanne must have taken the brunt of the impact, considering that she’s unconscious and a few yalms away from the front of the airship, while Ichelle is still entangled in some of its parts.

Ichelle forces herself onto her legs and is pleasantly surprised that they can bear weight, though one of her ankles is a bit tender. Nothing worse than any of the injuries Estinien has inflicted on her during their training sessions. She holds her hand a few ilms away from Erleanne’s face, and she feels her breath. At least she’s still alive.

Ichelle groans, “Please wake up.”

Erleanne doesn’t respond, and the sun is beginning its descent in the distance. Ichelle realizes she’s lost her bag, and that it’s not in their immediate vicinity. Without the food she’s stored away, they wouldn’t make it more than a few days.

“Please?” After nothing but silence, Ichelle accepts what she must do. Hoping she doesn’t have any severely broken bones, Ichelle lifts Erleanne off the ground and hoists her over her shoulder. Talking out loud, Ichelle tries to calm herself down, “this will all work out, she will wake up, and we won’t be stranded here. All I have to do is find my bag…”

She walks a couple malms before she spots it, her bag, on the ground.

Near a chocobo with his beak rustling through it.

“You! Get out of there!” The chocobo stops, turning to face the source of the noise. But unlike most chocobos Ichelle has experienced, this one reacts, instead of fear, with defensive rage. “Perfect. This is exactly what I needed.”

She tries to gently set down Erleanne, pretty sure she’ll be easier to defend with both arms open. But when she attempts to retrieve her lance, she undoes the buckle, and it falls to the ground in two pieces.

The chocobo charges and Ichelle takes a hit, not the worst one she’s ever taken, but she stumbles back. She grabs the part of the lance with the sharp end and tries to jab the bird with it, but without the entire pole, she can’t get the right leverage.

She’s going to die here, protecting an unconscious engineer, against an angry wild chocobo. Not even a particularly exciting way to go.

Ichelle holds up both halves of her lance defensively as the chocobo prepares for its second, and likely final, attack.

She closes her eyes and prepares for the worst, but it doesn’t come. Instead, she hears chittering.

An emerald carbuncle stands before her, staring down a now-retreating wild chocobo. A man’s voice sounds in the distance “Nicely done, Emmy!”

She spots him approaching, a half-elezen with light silver hair (and just the slightest tint of rose). His carbuncle bounds back towards him excitedly and he lets it jump into his arms, where he scratches it on the head. Ichelle looks back at Erleanne, still unconscious, and goes to pick her back up again. When she throws Erleanne over her shoulder, she notices the man is staring at her with his eyes wide.

“You’re pretty strong.”

Ichelle shrugs with her unoccupied shoulder. “A lot of training.”

He looks at her broken lance and nods. “You’re a dragoon. You must be from the Holy See, then.”

“Ah, where are my manners?” Ichelle carries Erleanne all the way to where he stands, “I’m Ichelle, and thank you for saving us.”

“Feldspar.” The carbuncle dematerializes, leaving just the three of them. “And it’s no bother. Us half-breeds have to watch out for one another, right?”

Ichelle smiles, not sure she cares enough to correct him on the precise percentage of elezen to hyur she actually possesses. “I suppose so. You wouldn’t happen to know where the nearest civilization is, would you?”

“You’re not far from it.” He points to the northwest, smirking. “I came to investigate when I saw an airship crash. There’s a reason people take the tunnel, the wind gusts that separate Dravania from Coerthas are strong to stop the corrupted aether from freezing the forest.”

“Is that common knowledge?” She asks, suddenly very irritated with the girl still unconscious on her shoulder.

“I’d imagine so.” He chuckles, “Is she your pilot?”

“She is. Unfortunately.”

“Has she been unconscious since you crashed?”

“I tried to wake her.”

“Can you set her back down again?” Ichelle nods, gently laying Erleanne out between the two of them. He pulls out a grimoire, casts Physick, and Erleanne immediately starts to stir. “She must have hit her head.”

Irritation replaced with concern, Ichelle watches intently as Erleanne returns to consciousness. When Erleanne opens her eyes, she winces.

“You saved me, yet again.”

“I can’t take the credit this time, I’m afraid.” Erleanne tries to lift herself up, but judging from the look of agony on her face, it must be too painful for her.

“You did carry her all this way.” Feldspar awards her, but Ichelle shakes her head.

“‘Twas nothing really.”

“You carried me?” Ichelle nods and Erleanne smiles through her wince, “Without even treating me to dinner first?”

Ichelle scowls and goes to retrieve her bag, despite it being heavily rummaged through by a wild chocobo. All of the food is gone, as she expected, but she hopes some of the medical supplies can be used.

When she returns, Feldspar hovers over Erleanne yet again. “Your ribs are broken. I can help.” Erleanne raises an eyebrow, suspicious of the unfamiliar man atop her.

“I don’t even-” He ignores her question, wasting no time mending the fractures. When he directs her to breathe deeply, she sighs in relief. “I should have never doubted you. You might be a better healer than my sister is.”

“I’m just happy I could help.” He holds out a hand, pulling her to her feet. “I did not catch your name, though.”

“Erleanne Augurelt, it’s a pleasure.” She shakes his already extended hand, and his eyes widen. “What?”

“Any relation to Urianger Augurelt?” He asks, pulling his hand away and vigorously flipping through his grimoire.

“He’s my father, why-”

He finds the page he was looking for and turns it around. “He was the original owner of this tome, I believe.”

“ _To my student, Urianger Augurelt. Keep open not only thy mind but also thy heart_." Erleanne reads aloud, fascinated. “This must be his old grimoire. The one he used before my mother made him a new one. I thought it went missing when we moved to Mor Dhona.”

Ichelle suddenly feels wobbly on her feet, nauseated, and with a sharp headache spreading through her temples and behind her eyes. She must have hit her head as well.

“Ichelle?” Noticing the sudden deterioration of Ichelle's health, Erleanne hands the grimoire back to its new owner and tries to rush to her side before she collapses.

* * *

_A young boy hides behind a partially-closed door, a half-elezen with just-barely-pink hair and wide eyes. A woman, a Seeker, sits across a table from a young adult Alphinaud Leveilleur._

_“He is as much family as any of my own.” She says, quietly. “I’m afraid I cannot do what you ask.”_

_Alphinaud’s face drops, and he stares at his hands sadly. “I understand, I had just hoped for a better outcome.”_

_The Miqo’te reaches across the table to rest her hand on his shoulder, “You are young yet, this is hardly your last opportunity.”_

_“If only I dared to say something years ago-”_

_“You were but a child yourself. Her heart was spoken for, and her mind made up, long before she sought me out.”_

_“I know.” He pulls the grimoire out of his bag, the one Erleanne and Feldspar had been inspecting before Ichelle fainted. “Can you give this to him when he’s older? It was going to be thrown away, and I thought he might appreciate it.”_

_“I’m sure he’ll love it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is curious, I've meticulously photoshopped Ichelle, Zoisite, and Feldspar (in that order) into a photo together:
> 
> https://i.imgur.com/isJUde8.png


	4. Chapter 4

Ichelle regains consciousness on a bedroll, voices around her just barely audible. She sits up, noticing that all of the pain in her back is suddenly gone. How long had she been unconscious? She looks around the room and sees a seeker woman, an older version of the one from her dream, stirring a pot over a fire. Sitting cross-legged on the floor Erleanne is fussing over Ichelle’s lance and talking to herself. Finally, leaning against the wall and speaking to the Miqo’te is Feldspar, explaining something in a quiet voice.

The Miqo’te notices Ichelle’s waking before anyone else and smiles, interrupting Feldspar. “You gave my son and your friend quite a scare.”

Erleanne looks up from what she’s doing with her eyes wide. The look of genuine fear in Erleanne’s expression is surprising, especially since she’d collapsed after a fight between the two of them. Not that they often had conversations that weren't fighting. “Feldspar couldn’t get you to wake up! He tried healing you, but apparently, you suffered no injuries! Has this ever happened before?” Yes, Ichelle thinks, but she shakes her head.

“I’m not sure what happened.” She looks a bit more closely at the Miqo’te, “Do you know Alphinaud Leveilleur?”

The seeker looks taken aback by the question at first, but nods. “He has been known to stop in on his way through camp on occasion.”

“And you’re not Feldspar’s real mother, clearly,” Ichelle adds, but before the woman can answer, Feldspar narrows his eyes.

“She is in all of the ways that matter.” Defensively, he crosses his arms. “And after all of the hospitality she has afforded you, it seems rather rude to start asking personal questions.”

“Right. My apologies.” Ichelle crosses her legs and stands, walking over to the Miqo’te and holding out her hand. “My name is Ichelle,”

“I know, dearie.” She smiles and shakes Ichelle’s hand, “I’m Q’yantaa. Feldspar’s parentage has always been a sore spot of _his_ , not mine.”

Ichelle can somewhat relate. “So where am I exactly?”

“Tailfeather.” Erleanne pipes up, “It was only a short distance from where we crashed. Pretty good luck we had there.”

Ichelle smirks, “We wouldn’t have crashed if you hadn’t flown over the mountain range.”

“It seemed fine just looking at it!”

Q’yantaa clears her throat, “Where exactly are the two of you headed?”

“Anyx Trine.” They respond at the same time.

“Well, you’re not too far off.” She explains, “It’s a day trip from here, at the most, on foot.”

Erleanne declines the implicit suggestion, “I’d really rather fix my airship-”

“We don’t exactly have the luxury of time, Erleanne.” Ichelle reminds her. Every moment they’re out here is another they’re not in Ishgard fighting the conspirators.

With a look that reminds Ichelle eerily of her own mother, Q’yantaa turns to her son. “You could escort them tomorrow.”

Feldspar flashes his mother an insincere, tight-lipped smile. “I _could_.”

Sensing that he’s not thrilled about the idea, Ichelle objects. “We wouldn’t want to impose, especially not after all you’ve done for us already.”

“Nonsense. Feldspar hasn’t been to the Trine in far too long, anyway.” Q’yantaa pats his shoulder affectionately. “Why don’t the three of you set up a fire outside? I can spare a few bedrolls.”

Erleanne is the first to leave, Ichelle following after her, finding a spot far enough away from camp that she won’t accidentally set anything on fire, and starts to dig a hole. Feldspar joins the girls with an armful of logs and a mild scowl. When he offers them to Erleanne, she shakes her head.

Rustling through her bag, Ichelle notices something is missing. “I can’t find anything to start the fire with."

Erleanne laughs, perhaps a bit too loud, at Ichelle, and pulls out a packet of powder from her own bag. “This should do it. But I need something very hot to light it with.” Suspicious but out of her element, Ichelle steps back and lets Erleanne work. She pours out the powder into the freshly dug hole before rummaging through her bag again. She holds up what looks like a small explosive and grins. “You should, ah, take a step back.” When Feldspar just stares at her, Erleanne nods in his direction. “You too.”

Ichelle doesn’t question her and instead chooses to stay as far away from the fire pit as possible. After a loud crackling sound and a puff of smoke, Ichelle waits to see the result until Erleanne herself approaches the fire again. Ichelle looks down to see a smoldering liquid. Finally, Erleanne takes a few logs out of Feldspar’s arms and places them in the fire, looking satisfied with herself as they catch almost immediately. Feldspar raises an eyebrow, “Was that really necessary?”

“Considering our fire is built upon a base of rust shavings and aluminum, it won’t go out if it rains.”

Ichelle tries to hide how impressed she is and instead takes a seat in front of the fire, sitting on top of one of the bedrolls Q’yantaa so graciously donated to them. “So do you remember who gave you your grimoire, Feldspar?”

“Since apparently my irritation with you questioning my mother earlier did not tip you off, I would really rather not discuss my parents. Not now or ever.” He warns her, but she pushes anyway.

“I’m not asking about your parents, necessarily, but you have Erleanne’s father’s grimoire. Aren’t you curious how that came to be?”

Her own name piquing her interest, Erleanne glances over. “I’d really like to know as well. If you don’t mind sharing.”

He rolls his eyes, “I was young, maybe six summers old? He came and talked to my mother and then gave her the grimoire. I don’t remember what he said."

“What did he look like?” Erleanne asks, intrigued.

“He was an elezen, he had white hair in a braid. That’s all I remember.” Ichelle looks over at Erleanne who looks thoroughly shocked.

She whispers her uncle’s name under her breath and questions Ichelle, “How did you know to ask Q’yantaa about him?”

Ichelle tells a half-truth, “It was a hunch.”

Uncharacteristically, Erleanne goes silent, deep in thought, and Feldspar looks annoyed. “Are you done?”

Ichelle nods, “I’m sorry, I just needed to confirm my suspicions.”

“Wonderful. Glad you got that out of your system.” He rubs his eyes. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

Admittedly, she still has questions, but Ichelle doesn’t voice them. She has a pretty solid suspicion who his father must be, but she doesn't voice that either.

She shakes her head. It doesn’t matter. Clearly, it doesn’t bother Feldspar at all, not knowing who his parents are. She has no reason to care either. At least she’s somewhat uncovered the mystery of her dream. Alphinaud would have, most certainly, passed through Ishgard before passing through Tailfeather. Maybe she remembers seeing him carrying the grimoire then? Also, Alphinaud himself wrote their travel itinerary based on his own expedition to the Trine with Zoisite and Estinien. Who is to say that he didn’t know Q’yantaa already, from a previous trip?

There were still too many unknowns. She has no reason to waste more time considering it.

As she curls up into the bedroll, she sneaks a glance at Erleanne. As Ichelle falls asleep, she wonders what to blame for the troubled look on the elezen’s face.

* * *

_Two nearly identical elezen girls, both with long white hair and golden eyes, sit on a bench, on either side of a younger Alphinaud Leveilleur._

_“Do you love Auntie Zoisite?” One of the girls asks, her eyes wide. Alphinaud chuckles._

_“Of course I do.” He reaches out his hand to rustle through the questioner’s hair. “Why do you ask?”_

_“Momma says that grown-ups have babies when they love each other. But you don’t.”_

_Alphinaud coughs, surprised, and the other girl glares across the bench at her sister. “Erleanne, that’s rude.”_

_He shakes his head, “It’s a fair question. For some, what your mother says is correct. Like for her and your father. But others prefer to wait.”_

_Satisfied with that answer, Erleanne nods, but Alphinaud’s expression changes to something more solemn._

_Alphinaud excuses himself, leaving the two girls behind. Erleanne’s sister looks downright livid._

_“You hurt his feelings!”_

_“I did not!” Erleanne pouts, “How would you even know?”_

_The other girl shakes her head and storms off after their uncle, leaving young Erleanne alone on the bench with her arms crossed._

* * *

_The Warrior of Light holds a blunt lance, practically a broom handle, and laughs at the girl, clearly Erleanne, on her back, clutching her own lance with a grimace on her face._

_“If someone comes after your shins or knees and you can’t block them, you need to jump. Otherwise, you’ll lose your balance and be out for a turn.” Zoisite explains and the girl nods. “Ready to try that again?”_

_Erleanne shakes her head vehemently. “I think I hurt my ankle.”_

_“Yeah, yeah. You’ll be fine. Get back up.” Erleanne flinches but nods, forcing herself to her feet but gingerly balancing her weight on one foot._

_The midlander waits for Erleanne to start and dodges the girl’s thrust, immediately going in for a leg sweep again. Unsurprisingly, when Erleanne attempts to jump, she can’t get the air needed to dodge it entirely, and instead, Zoisite’s lance hits Erleanne square in the injured ankle._

_With a cry, Erleanne collapses, and Zoisite immediately drops her lance, trying to calm the elezen down. “Erleanne, don’t panic. You’ll be fine.” The elezen nods, her breathing uneven and clearly on the verge of a sob. Zoisite notices an angry woman approaching them, presumably Erleanne’s mother, and apologizes. “Alisaie I’m so sorry-”_

_“Save it.” Alisaie looks down at her daughter clutching her ankle and sighs. “Can you walk on it?” Erleanne shakes her head. “How about move it?” Erleanne cries out in pain again, shaking her head to her mother’s second question as well. “It must be broken.”_

_“I’ll go find Krile.” Zoisite offers but Alisaie glares._

_“Haven’t you done enough already?” Grumbling under her breath, “I see why Alphinaud refuses to have children with you.”_

_Zoisite takes the insult well, not showing any outward signs of offense at the comment. She merely nods and watches as Alisaie picks her injured daughter up off the floor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm setting up poor Alphinaud for a lot of angst here. I am apologizing in advance...


	5. Chapter 5

 “I wish I could do that with my hair.” Ichelle watches as Erleanne tucks a loose strand into an elaborate looking updo. The sun had yet to rise, leaving the intricacies of her handiwork hidden in the shadows.

“What, braid it?” Chuckling, Erleanne raises an eyebrow at her. “You don’t know how to braid your hair?”

Feldspar, meanwhile, continues bouncing around camp in the dark, picking up items for their day trip. Ichelle crosses her arms, still sitting on her bedroll in front of the soon-to-be-extinguished fire. She really ought to get up... the sun would be up soon, and they can’t afford to waste time.

“No one has ever taught me." Self consciously, Ichelle brushes through her tangles with her fingers. Erleanne stands and walks over to Ichelle’s bedroll, taking a seat next to her.

“Not even your mother?”

“My mother isn’t around very often.” Ichelle fidgets with her hands. “Can I tell you something?”

Erleanne apparently notes the change in tone and replaces her smirk with a more neutral expression. “Of course.”

“I think my parents married out of principle, rather than love.” She shrugs, “There’s no better way for the head of House Fortemps to show our position than to marry and have a child with a half-elezen from the Brume, you know?" Laughing darkly, Ichelle continues, "It's not as if I never see her, I just never see them together, and my father has always been the parent of the two of them..."

Ichelle turns around to face Erleanne, who frowns. “And you believe that's why you never see your mother?"

"It's a theory."

“She's too busy yelling at me and the rest of her underlings at the Manufactory, I'd imagine." Ichelle smiles fondly, it's probably true. “But I was more-or-less raised by my father as well,” Erleanne offers in solidarity. “Because my mother is so easily bored by domesticity, not because my parents don’t love each other.” She clarifies, “From my own experiences with Hilda, it seems that might be the case for her as well.”

Ichelle smiles, “I could see that. But it might be a tad optimistic. I don’t know that they’d tell me if they were having problems. All I can do is speculate.”

Erleanne touches Ichelle’s hair with no warning, catching her off guard. Gently combing through it with her fingers, she divides it into three bundles and begins weaving them together. “Well, until we’ve returned to somewhere with a mirror and a comb, I suppose I can put your hair up for you.”

Ichelle can feel her face turning red. She genuinely doesn’t know if she can handle this much contact again, especially not if Erleanne insists on literally breathing down her neck, but she finds herself going against her every rational thought. “I’d like that.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ichelle spots Feldspar watching them from a distance, wearing an amused expression. She scowls at him and quickly covers up her face with her hand. For some reason, doesn’t want this random person they’ve met to assume anything.

“There! Perfect.” Erleanne stands, clearly pleased with her work. “You are a work of art, truly.” Giggling a bit, Erleanne continues her barrage of flattery, ”My skilled hands but helped enhance what was already perfection.”

Ichelle rolls her eyes, standing to finally help pack. “I’ll pretend your compliments are in earnest for the sake of my ego.”

“Why must you assume I'm insincere?” Erleanne practically sings, confirming her seriousness.

This girl will be the death of her.

* * *

 

“So why are the two of you traveling to Anyx Trine in the first place?” Feldspar breaks the comfortable silence, the three of them knee deep in the river that leads out of camp.

“Political drama.” Erleanne answers, shrugging.

“We believe that some younger members of the High Houses are plotting to assassinate some of the people responsible for bringing an end to the war. Including Vidofnir.” Ichelle elaborates, more annoyed than the matter-of-fact tone she was going for.

“That’s no good.” Feldspar remarks, “Problems between Ishgard and the wyrms are no good for us, either. We are somewhat at your mercy in that respect.” Clarifying, “ _Your_ meaning Ishgard’s, obviously.”

“Right. I just don’t understand why this is all happening. Not-” Ichelle yelps, almost slipping as she tries to follow Feldspar up the side of the riverbank. “Not now, at least.”

“It doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Feldspar muses, “You said it’s the young nobles starting trouble?”

Ichelle nods, “I’d think the opposite would happen, right? They have no reason to hate the Dravanians. It’s not as if Ciavant de Dzemael has ever seen his friend or comrade tore apart by a wyrm. Our fathers have, and they still accepted peace.”

“You two are missing the point.” Erleanne pipes up, “It’s not about dragons. It’s about power.”

“How can you say it’s not about dragons when they’ve threatened Vidofnir?”

Erleanne shrugs again, “I claim no expertise here, but I work day in and day out with these lesser noblemen, and it’s not the war they’re upset about. It’s Aymeric and the Scions and your family, Ichelle, for invalidating the High Houses. The war is just a more justified reason for their anger, even they realize that.” Erleanne shakes her head, "The resentment in these people when your mother gives them an order... they just can't believe a lowborn has the right."

“So what, they just expect the lowborn to go back to the Brume?” Ichelle scoffs.

Erleanne sighs. “It’s not as if they, personally, have anything to lose. Such is the nature of the rich...” Ichelle shifts uncomfortably. Ichelle supposes she, too, doesn’t personally have anything to lose. Except for basic decency.

“Sounds like a bunch of angry children if you ask me.” Feldspar comments, “And people are taking them seriously?”

Ichelle recalls her dream, the pink-haired woman preaching to a crowd, “The common folk likely see this as an opportunity to seek revenge for the lives lost in the war. It was them who were sent to die, after all.”

“I don’t know that they need to gather support the traditional way, they have an eye,” Erleanne points out.

“We don’t _know_ they have an eye.” Ichelle clarifies, and Feldspar looks deep in thought.

Erleanne protests, “You said yourself there’s no way Ciavant could have been so powerful.”

“Not even a wyrm’s eye is infallible.” Feldspar reassures them, “Your Warrior of Light possessed one as well, did she not?”

“How would you know that?” Ichelle asks, genuinely surprised.

“I’ve heard stories. Tailfeather isn’t _completely_ isolated from the rest of the realm.” Feldspar explains, too quickly, and changes the subject. “Watch out for the Nankas. They look harmless, but I assure you, they aren’t.”

Ichelle narrows her eyes, knowing there’s more to it than that, but she nods as well. “Right. We will be sure to do that.”

Erleanne happily follows the half-elezen through the brush, carrying her boots in one hand, her legs still wet from the river. Apparently, _she_ trusts Feldspar.

In two days at most, they’ll all go their separate ways, and she won’t have to deal with them anymore. In the meantime, Ichelle just tries not to focus on the feeling of her wet socks rubbing against her raw ankles.

* * *

Ichelle can’t help but laugh at Erleanne’s discomfort around the residents of the Trine. This is perhaps the first time Ichelle knew what she was doing, and Erleanne did not, and Ichelle will certainly bring it up again when they do not have such pressing business to attend to. When Vidofnir sniffs the elezen as a greeting, Erleanne recoils in fear, and Ichelle can't help but snicker a bit.

“Thou art before me to warn of malcontent in Ishgard, I presume.” Vidofnir’s voice booms, as Ichelle remembers it from her childhood.

“You’re _already aware_?” Erleanne sounds frustrated, waving her hands wildly as she speaks.

“Yes, there has been word of Nidhogg’s brood allying with Ishgardians, one, in particular, offering his strength to aid their cause.”

“Do you know why?” Ichelle demands, she still can’t quite understand the reasoning. Why would Nidhogg’s brood need help from Ishgard? Wouldn’t they be better off just attacking the city directly?

“Mayhaps you remember the fate that befell your Azure Dragoon,” Vidofnir begins and Ichelle nods, “Mortals have envied the power contained in our eyes since the moment of their arrival. A proverb, of sorts, has been known to our kind for centuries. In your tongue, ‘ _When a man acquires an eye, he possesses great power. When a man acquires both, he possesses none_.’”

“I don’t understand,” Ichelle admits, and the dragon simply peers at her curiously.

“Focus on my words, child, and thou wilst reveal thy own answers.”

 Ichelle looks to Erleanne, who seems clueless, and to Feldspar, whose eyes are downcast.

“Focus on your words...” Ichelle repeats and stares intently at the dragon in front of her, following Vidofnir's orders.

* * *

_The white feathered wyrm groans with pain. Hraesvelgr, if Ichelle’s memory serves correctly. Nidhogg casts aside a disembodied wing._

_“Thou art weak, Hraesvelgr -- a slithering wyrm who fawneth on the vermin who should rightly be his prey. For a thousand years have I fought without cease -- and thou didst think to prevail against me?”_

_“Glory not in thy victory, shade. The battle… is not yet won. My power -- and my hope -- have I entrusted to another…” Hraesvelgr opens his eyes to reveal empty sockets, a short dragoon in full armor standing before the missing eye._

_“Thine eye! What hast thou done!?” Nidhogg chides, “Fool! Thou wouldst trust a moral with thy strength?” Turning to face the dragoon, “I know thee. ‘Twas thou who didst intrude upon my lair and best the half of me. But now I am whole, and naught in creation may deny me my vengeance!”_

_The Warrior of Light steps forward, now fused with Hraesvelgr’s eye. Ichelle recognizes this battle from stories. The fight with Nidhogg on the Steps of Faith. The technicalities of how Zoisite managed to best Nidhogg after everyone else had failed suddenly reveal themselves as she uses the eye to defeat Nidhogg yet again._

_The dragon transforms, taking the shape of a blood-bathed dragoon, eyes melded onto the armor. Alphinaud shouts out his name, “Estinien!”_

_“Is this… to be… mine end?” Nidhogg’s voice, not Estinien’s, comes from the form. “Nay, I will not allow it… I am of the first brood… I am vengeance incarnate… I am Nidhogg! Thou shalt die by my hand!”_  
_But as he raises his lance, he falters, the voice changes, “This is not your hand, wyrm!”_

_His gloves around his neck, “Thou… wilt… obey.”_

_Estinien, not Nidhogg, faces Zoisite. “I would ask one last favor of you, Warrior of Light… Finish me-- now, while I have the beast subdued.”_

_Alphinaud and Zoisite share a look and nod, running to Estinien’s side, but rather than ending him, as Estinien had asked, they each grab onto an eye, pulling it from his armor. As the eyes finally separate from Estinien, the soul of the Wyrm exits, leaving no trace except Estinien’s body unconscious on the ground and the eyes in either of their hands._

* * *

 

As soon as she returns to reality, Ichelle shares her conclusion, “We can’t stop them without an eye of our own.”

“I would offer one of my own, but I am afraid thou wilst require the eye of a great wyrm to defeat Nidhogg’s broodling.”

“Thank you,” Ichelle smiles sadly at the dragon, “For the sentiment and the information.”

“Contained within thee is all the information you seek. You need only find it.” Ichelle nods slowly, skeptical. “I wish the three of you safe travels.”

The long descent down the staircase leads them to the ground floor, dragons of all ages occupying space and resting. The three of them walk in awkward silence, Ichelle and Feldspar deep in thought. When they finally reach the forest again, Erleanne interrupts.

“So, _what_ in the Twelve’s name happened back there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CES is over!! I can finally ~~level~~ write again!


	6. Chapter 6

“I don’t know. I just… thought, and then I was there. Zoisite’s battle with Nidhogg,” Ichelle summarizes.  
Erleanne’s face is a mix of shocked and excited.

“What?”

“You have the Echo!” Erleanne exclaims. “I knew it! I should have known the first time you fainted!”

“What-”

“My sister has the Echo too. Gods, she will be so relieved to find out that someone else has the Echo and also has any sort of affinity for combat…”

“That’s impossible,” Ichelle explains. “Why would Hydaelyn choose someone like me?”

“Who knows?” Erleanne seems pretty pleased with herself for the revelation.

“Echo or no, we need to get back to camp before dark,” Feldspar reminds them. “And that means not slowing down to talk about irrelevant nonsense.”

“What has gotten into him?” Erleanne whispers to Ichelle. Ichelle wonders the same, but is thankful for the change in topic. She shrugs.

* * *

By the time Ichelle wakes, both Erleanne and Feldspar are already elsewhere. The embers of the fire are still hot, but the sun is up, and the rest of camp is already starting their day. Chocobos are being packed with supplies; hunters are gearing up. She barely has time to register her consciousness before she’s being beckoned by Feldspar’s mother.

“You have somewhere to be, girl?” She asks, impatiently. Ichelle shakes her head. “Then you can help with chores. Up you go.”

Ichelle reluctantly stands and walks towards the miqo’te. Q’yantaa clears her throat and points back to the bedroll, still unfolded. “Right.” Ichelle sighs and returns, haphazardly rolling up the mat before tying something resembling a bow around it to keep it from unrolling.

She follows Q’yantaa into the house, finding Feldspar and Erleanne’s pristinely rolled and tied in a neat pile. Hers is at least twice in size, and not because the bedding itself is any more voluminous. Embarrassed, she adds it to the stack.

“First things first, we need to get dinner going,” Q’yantaa explains.

“So early?” Ichelle rubs her eyes.

“Cooking for a whole camp takes a few bells. Hells, I ought’ve started long before you woke up. But my help is off finding supplies for your friend to fix her airship.”

It explains why Q’yantaa’s kitchen looks more like an operation than any typical house. Especially one with hardly any furniture otherwise. “So what do you need me to do?”

She gestures to half a dozen sacks piled up next to a counter. “Peel and cut the popotos, carrots, and onions. I need to clean and butcher the goat.”

Ichelle rustles through a bag and pulls out a popoto, placing it on the counter. She grabs the knife, large and sharp, and contemplates how to go about removing the skin of the vegetable. She holds it end to end her left hand and starts cutting with her right, towards herself, and Q’yantaa practically wrestles the knife out of her hands when she sees what Ichelle is doing.

“By the Fury, girl!” Q’yantaa shouts, waving the knife around. “Are you trying to cut your fingers off?”

“I-” Ichelle looks at the woman guiltily, “I’ve never done this before.”

“You’ve never cut a gods-damned popoto? What do they even teach you in Ishgard?” She shakes her head in complete disbelief.

“Can you show me?” Ichelle asks, sheepishly. Q’yantaa’s irritation softens.

“Obviously.” Sighing, the miqo’te grabs a different knife, a smaller one. “Lesson number one. Never cut towards yourself. Ever.” She sternly repeats herself, “Ever. Understand?” Ichelle nods.

“Second, you need to use the right tool for the right job. This knife,” Q’yantaa holds up the knife Ichelle had been using, “is for chopping. This one,” she holds up the smaller knife, “is for peeling. Now watch.” She demonstrates, cutting the ends off of a new popoto and gently slicing away from herself, removing the skin before rotating it and doing it again.

“Seems easy enough.” Ichelle holds her hand out for the knife. After a long moment, the miqo'te hands it over.

Her second attempt goes a lot better. She still fumbles, a bit, but at the end, she has a perfectly peeled popoto and is extraordinarily proud of herself.

“Don’t look so excited,” Q’yantaa reminds her. Ichelle downgrades her grin to a more subtle smile, her lips together.

* * *

“Can I try?” Ichelle watches as Q’yantaa mends a pair of hempen kecks, thoroughly distracted from her own job of washing dirty clothes.

The woman eyes Ichelle for a moment, judging her seriousness in the offer. “There’s still a whole lot of laundry to be washed.”

“I can do both!” Ichelle breaks out the eyes she typically reserves for her father when she really wants something. Q’yantaa just gives her an annoyed and skeptical look in return.

“Put the pup eyes away. You can try, but not on kecks. Maybe a sack.” Ichelle accepts this, nodding once. Q’yantaa disappears for a few moments, returning with a torn bag, still full of the outermost layers of a few onions.

Ichelle takes the needle, already threaded, and tries to imitate the miqo’te. She’s surprised at how easy it is, much more comfortable than cutting the vegetables. When she’s done, it looks as if the sack was never torn at all.

She shows it to the older woman for approval, who inspects the stitching more closely. “You said you’ve never done this before?” Ichelle shakes her head. “Hmph.”

“So I did a good job?” Ichelle’s eyes light up, and Q’yantaa smirks.

“It’s passable, for a highborn girl.”

Ichelle’s brows furrow. “How-”

“You’ve got it written all over you, sweetheart.” Q’yantaa takes back her needle. “I won’t tell Feldspar. If you’re tryin’ to keep it secret, that is.”

All of her pride suddenly drained from her, Ichelle sighs. “I wish it weren’t so obvious.”

“It doesn’t make a difference to me. You still cut carrots and washed everyone’s dirty underclothes like the rest of us.”

“Do you do this every day?” Ichelle finally asks the question weighing on her. “For the whole camp?”

“Aye.” Q’yantaa shrugs. “Needed something to do in my retirement.”

“Retirement? But you’re so young.” Q’yantaa scoffs and Ichelle continues, “So you were a hunter?”

“I was, and a damn good one.” She sighs wistfully. “Then my partner had to go and get himself killed. I figured I ought to put up the bow for good, then. Take care of our kids.” It hadn’t occurred to Ichelle that Q’yantaa might have children besides Feldspar. The miqo’te smiles. “You can ask.”

“So he was your lover then?”

“For half a dozen suns, we were just partners. Feldspar’s birth mother actually brought us together, found a useless bloody flower for me.” She laughs. “I was about your age. He didn’t want to be my hunting partner because he couldn’t watch another partner die. Real ironic, ain't it?”

“Wait,” Ichelle interrupts, “you knew Feldspar’s mother?”

“I had a feeling you’d fixate on that.” Ichelle winces apologetically. “Like I said, she came around when I was looking for a new partner and helped me work through the list.”

“So how did you end up with Feldspar, if you don’t mind me asking?” Ichelle lowers her voice, self-conscious that perhaps Feldspar might be lurking outside and hear her question.

”A season or two after we met, she stopped through on her way to the Trine. Her belly was so swollen she could hardly walk. She told me her story, and I was moved to tears.” Q'yantaa smiles sadly, “She couldn’t keep him. Too painful and too dangerous. I thought I’d never have kids of my own, so far away from my Nunh, so I offered to take him before she even asked.”

“Interesting.” Ichelle genuinely means that. Why would she have been on her way to the Trine? Did she expect the dragons to raise him? She has more questions than she knows she has the right to ask.

“But that’s in the past, and we have chores to finish.”

* * *

“ _Gods_ , Q’yantaa, I’m so sorry.”

Ichelle watches as the young elezen boy, dressed in full hunter's gear and no older than Ichelle herself, sobs, apologizing over and over again. “It’s not your fault.” Q’yantaa remains unsettlingly stoic, reassuring him. “Did you bury her at least?” She asks, the faintest hint of emotion detectable in her voice.

“There was nothing left. The bandersnatch-”

Something about this seems wrong to Ichelle, but she’s not sure why. It may be the boy’s body language, more scared than sad. The absence of a body. A feeling in her gut. “Shhhh.” Q’yantaa pulls him in for a hug, rubbing his back. “She won’t be the first partner you’ll lose, boy. You need to toughen up if you’re going to make it out here.”

He hiccups and Ichelle feels something like an itch in her brain, something just too deep to scratch. She focuses on identifying the cause, picking away at her memories until she finds something seemingly blocked off, just beyond her reach.

Picking at it, she feels unsteady on her feet, focuses more intently on the boy standing in front of her.

_An older man stands with the boy, shoving something in his pocket. “You just have to follow through on your end, and I’ll follow through on mine.”_

_“What are you going to do to her?” The boy asks, and the man laughs._

_“I have a client back in Ul’dah with a fixation for girls like her.” The boy looks at his feet. “There’s only a handful of ‘em in all of Eorzea.”_

Ichelle glares at the boy currently clutching Q’yantaa’s chest. Interrupting, Ichelle grabs him by the collar, yanking him away from the woman with as much force as she can manage. “Where did you take her?”

“I already explained-”

“And none of that was true. Where did you take her?”

“I don’t-”

“Listen.” Ichelle pulls him closer to her so that she can stare him in the eyes. “There might still be time to fix this. Where is she?”

The boy closes his eyes and nods. Q’yantaa growls, “What is she talking about?”

“I lead her to the border.”

Ichelle drops him, letting him fall to the ground before immediately heading back to Q’yantaa’s house, the miqo’te following behind her. “My lance. Erleanne was fixing it when I passed out. Do you know where she put it?”

“Where are you going?” Ichelle spots the lance on the ground and picks it up, inspecting the break. It’s not as strong as it was before she broke it, but it would have to do.

“Hopefully, to save your daughter.”

* * *

“You’re lucky I don’t keep you for myself.” The man from her vision remarks to the young girl, her arms bound behind her back at the wrists. She doesn’t respond, but her expression is a mix of defiance and fear. “I’m sure you’re quite the piece when you’re cleaned up.”

Ichelle tightens her grip on her lance, watching to see if he faces away for just long enough for Ichelle to get a strike in from his flank. They’re still on the Dravania side of the passage... so he might be waiting for something. Ichelle isn’t sure she wants to stick around and find out what, or who, that might be.

Abandoning any stealth, she jumps at him, her lance shattering at its weak point as soon as it strikes him in the chest, not enough to even puncture. At most, it would likely bruise.

“Mind your own business, girl, before I get angry.” He warns Ichelle, but she grabs half of her lance and looks to the half-miqo’te. She doesn’t acknowledge Ichelle, appearing too shocked to do much of anything.

“You let her go before I beat you to death with this thing,” Ichelle warns, and the man laughs.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Ichelle takes the challenge, whipping him across the face with the spearhead. He recoils, shocked. In his confusion, she’s able to knee him in the groin as hard as she can, and he collapses.

She doesn’t wait to see what he does, taking advantage of the few seconds he’s distracted to untie the girl. When she doesn’t respond at first, Ichelle shakes her by the shoulders. “Come on. We need to get out here.”

“Don’t you dare-” The man groans in pain and Ichelle lifts the girl to her feet.

“I know this is hard. But your mom and brother are waiting for you back at camp, and you need to run, okay?”

“You’re not coming with me?” She finally speaks, and Ichelle shakes her head.

“There’s no time. Run as fast as you can back to camp. I’ll take care of him.”

The girl nods, taking off towards Tailfeather.

The man staggers back to his feet and Ichelle scowls. She has unfinished business.

* * *

Ichelle bursts into the room, still injured from battle, but desperate to confirm that the girl returned safely. Erleanne is the first to greet her, wrapping her arms around Ichelle’s upper body and squeezing tightly. “When you didn’t come back-”

“How did you even know I was gone? Where were you?” Erleanne shakes her head.

“Long story.”

“Thank you, Ichelle,” Q’yantaa interrupts. Feldspar looks up from observing his sister, who is sleeping on the floor with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I would have taken that boy at his word, and Yhone would have been gone forever.” Ichelle shrugs.

Feldspar looks back at Yhone, concerned, and mutters, “She’s still… shaken.” Ichelle nods knowingly and he frowns. “She’s a proud girl. For her to be outsmarted and overpowered like that, it’ll be a while before she’s back to her normal self.”

 _If she ever is,_  Ichelle thinks to herself, shifting uncomfortably. Suddenly, she feels claustrophobic, like the air is too thick to breathe and the temperature is so high that she’s sweating. She has to get out of there.

She smiles politely before spinning around on her heels, walking straight outside with no other announcement. She tries to breathe in the fresh air but her chest tightens, and she can hardly get enough oxygen to relieve the dizzy feeling. It’s been suns since Ichelle has been like this. How did she deal with it before?

She runs, so fast her legs burn, to somewhere just far enough outside of camp that she feels alone. She finds a grassy ledge overlooking Tailfeather and takes a seat, catching her breath. She digs her hands into the grass, reminding her where she is, and more importantly where she is not, and the unsettled feeling returns to its rightful place, buried deep within her.

Ichelle hears footsteps behind her, but she can’t bring herself to tear her eyes away from the camp beneath her. Everyone is preparing for bed, only a few windows remain lit. She’ll miss Tailfeather. Q’yantaa especially.

“Mind some company?” Ichelle turns to see Erleanne staring down at her, a hint of fatigue in her voice. She’s surprised the girl followed her all the way out here, especially after she so abruptly left. Ichelle pats the ground next to her.

Erleanne joins her, dangling her feet over the edge of the cliff with a lot more animation than her dragoon companion. When Ichelle notices this, she smiles to herself.

“You know, you really surprised me today,” Erleanne starts. “What you did for that girl…”

“You would have done the same,” Ichelle dismisses, “It was the right thing to do.”

“I misjudged you.” Erleanne smiles apologetically. “I thought you were this spoiled girl who happened to be skilled with a lance and thought yourself better than the rest of us, but you’re not. You care about people. I’m sorry for ever assuming otherwise.”

Ichelle chuckles, “I am that person, though.” She breaks eye contact with the other girl and looks back at the camp. “I’m spoiled and unapproachable and naive. There’s so much I don’t know. The longer we’re out here, the more I realize that.”

“You’ve learned a lot in the past few days. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Erleanne pats Ichelle on the shoulder reassuringly but leaves her hand there. Ichelle looks towards her shoulder and the point of contact between the two of them, followed by the owner of said hand digging ever so slightly into the fabric of her shirt. “All things considered, I think you’re amazing.”

“Do you mean _doing_ amazing?” Ichelle smirks, expecting an eye roll or a retort.

“That too.”

The next few moments happen quickly. Ichelle’s eyes flicker to Erleanne’s lips for only a split-second, which Erleanne must take as her cue. The elezen grabs both of the dragoon’s shoulders and pulls her in, capturing Ichelle’s lips with her own.

When Erleanne pulls away, Ichelle is in a daze. She can vaguely recognize a questioning look on Erleanne’s face, waiting for Ichelle to react.

“Wha-”

“Stop thinking,” Erleanne interrupts her. “Do you want to kiss me again?”

Ichelle licks her lips and nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't be the only one who did the Q'yantaa/Hudde side quests and was like "awww, I ship it" right? Right???


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Erleanne and Feldspar were up to in Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd take a moment to PSA that this fic is "Chose not to warn" and not "No archive warnings apply." I'll add warnings as they specifically become relevant, but I'm also trying not to spoil anything. Proceed at your own risk, though I can assure you there will be nothing graphic, it's still Teen-rated. Thanks for reading!

Erleanne gives up on trying to sleep, allowing herself to open her eyes and watch the sky above her. It’s so dark and quiet this far away from the nearest city, and without the aetherical corruption she’s grown up with in Mor Dhona, she’s blown away by how bright the stars are. Though she’s been dragged to all corners of Eorzea, Dravania is foreign to her, seemingly untouched by the Calamity. Though she supposes that the dragons deserve the credit, there.

She couldn’t help but watch Ichelle, either. While a part of Erleanne is annoyed by her presence, she’s grown somewhat fond of the novice dragoon. She finds her naivete tedious, and her standoffish attitude a bit off-putting, but can’t help but be impressed by her snarky remarks and self-confidence.

As Ichelle tosses and turns throughout the night, somewhat violently, Erleanne wonders if there’s a bit more to that standoffish attitude than she assumed.

Feldspar also abandons any hope of sleeping as the first hint of the sun peeks over the horizon, fully aware that Erleanne has also been awake all night. Yawning, “You mentioned a need for airship parts.”

“If we plan on going anywhere further than a couple hundred malms in less than a bell, I’d advise in favor of that, yes,” Erleanne spoke softly, trying not to wake Ichelle.

“Well, we aren’t going to find anything around here.” He runs his hand through his hair, “we could head back towards Ishgard-”

“-No!” Erleanne interrupts. “If we do that, they probably won’t let us leave again. Our objective was to warn Vidofnir, after all, and we have technically fulfilled that requirement already…”

“Not ready to go home just yet?” Feldspar glances at Ichelle with a grin. Erleanne rolls her eyes.

“I just know that we are onto something, and if the Scions get involved, there’ll be an all-out war.” Erleanne grumbles.

“Of course.” He winks before collecting some things from around the campfire. “In that case, our best chance is with Idyllshire.”

Erleanne lights up at this, jumping up and collecting her own things urgently. “You mean what used to be Sharlayan?”

“You’ve heard of it?” Feldspar seems surprised.

“My mother was born there. And my father was from Sharlayan, but not the colony. I’ve always been curious.”

“Its residents can be a bit… peculiar,” Feldspar warns. Erleanne shakes her head dismissively.

“That’s true of everywhere.”

* * *

“Well, well, well.” The Midlander peeks out from behind her counter, staring at the two teenagers curiously. “I couldn’ta imagined a less likely pair of welps to walk through those doors.”

Erleanne takes a step back, her eyes wide in shock. “Rowena? What-”

“I’ve a second business ‘round these parts. Split my time between the two.” Rowena furrows her brows. “Yer an awfully long ways away from home.”

“I’m looking for airship parts-”

“Feldspar here ain’t your boyfriend, is he?” She asks, interrupting Erleanne’s explanation and looking between the two of them with a worried look.

Erleanne immediately shakes her head, “No! Of course not! We only just met…” She leaves out her suspicion that he might be her cousin, one that Rowena’s strange demeanor is only reaffirming.

Rowena hums judgmentally, narrowing her eyes as she looks to Feldspar. “Well, he of all people knows I can get yer hands on the finest airship parts the realm has to offer.” Rowena crosses her arms. “For a price.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just point us in the right direction.” Feldspar sighs as he pulls a tie out of his bag and uses it to put up his hair.

“And yer both armed?” Rowena asks Erleanne, who nods, pulling her smaller pistol out of her pocket and setting it down on the counter matter of factly. Rowena nods before looking over the counter and raising her eyebrow at the Emerald Carbuncle standing at Feldspar’s feet. “‘s not yer usual rat.”

“I thought she might be feeling neglected. Besides, it’s hardly your concern...”

“‘m just curious, is all,” Rowena smirks a little as she flips through a large notebook. “‘an you can put away yer fake accent. It ain’t charming,” She teases.

Erleanne looks over at Feldspar curiously, who huffs a bit, crossing his arms as he makes his impatience known, “I thought you had a job for us.”

Rowena nods, scanning a page before settling on a line. “Yer favorite, in fact. A couple of tomes from Gubal.” She tears off the bottom portion of the page and folds it neatly, sliding it across the counter. “You can even snag some for yer own collection.”

“Thanks.” Feldspar takes the note, his annoyance clear in his tone. “Let’s go, Erleanne.”

Erleanne blinks, following after Feldspar as he abruptly turns to leave the room. “Wait, when she said _Gubal_ , she didn’t happen to mean the monster-infested library, did she?”

* * *

“You’ve been here before?” Erleanne asks as Feldspar casts a different summon spell.

“Yes…” Emerald disappears, followed by the flicker of aether and materialization of another carbuncle - one Erleanne recognizes immediately. After the initial shock, she reminds herself that Feldspar does have her father’s grimoire, so it would only make sense he’d be able to summon an Amber carbuncle as well. “Ready?”

Erleanne clutches her pistol between both hands and nods. “Had I known we’d be actually fighting, I would have brought my gunspear instead…”

“Oh, is that how you and Ichelle met? A shared fondness for the lance?” Feldspar asks, more amused-sounding than he intended.

“Not exactly. Though we did both study under either former Azure Dragoon.” Erleanne shrugs, eyeing the door suspiciously. “And let’s get this over with, we can chat later.”

Feldspar nods, shouldering the door open and setting Amber loose on the room, pulling all of the monsters into its center. “Oh no, keep talking. I’m curious. We can do both.” Feldspar casts miasma and spreads it across all dozen of the monsters before turning back to Erleanne with a raised eyebrow. “How did you two meet?”

“I had stumbled into her home looking for the Warrior of Light, and Ichelle’s father found me instead.” Erleanne fires off a few shots, finishing off the monsters in the room. “I also just started working for her mother, so I guess it was only a matter of time... Do you know where these books are located or are we just supposed to check every single one we find?”

Feldspar pulls out the slip of paper and scans over it, humming in thought. “Second floor. It shouldn’t take too long to get there… it’s only been a few moons since I’ve been here last.”

“Moons?” Erleanne groans. “This place fills up this quickly in moons?”

“Well, sometimes I don’t engage, I just run and hope nothing catches me.” Feldspar shrugs, continuing forward. “How long ago was this? When you and Ichelle met, that is?”

“A few days?” Erleanne speculates. Feldspar makes a ' _hmph'_  sound, slightly less judgmental than the one they received earlier from Rowena.

“You’re awfully close for only knowing each other for a few days…” Feldspar smirks.

“No, we aren’t.” Erleanne protests, her eyebrows furrowed. “I hardly know her.”

The two of them are relieved to find the next room empty and pick up their pace as they talk. “She likes you.” Feldspar points out with a chuckle.

Erleanne scoffs. “She doesn’t even like the fact that I _exist_.”

“You don’t see the way she looks at you when she thinks no one can see her.” Feldspar points out, grinning. “It’s obvious. And judging entirely by how defensive you are, I’d say it’s mutual.”

“You hardly know us!”

“I don’t need to. I can tell.” Feldspar smiles smugly as he walks backward. “And if I’m going to be spending all of this time with the two of you, I don’t know if I can handle the tension. It even makes my carbuncles uncomfortable.” Amber quirks her head at that.

“You’re wrong.” Erleanne scoffs again, blushing furiously. “I seriously doubt _she_ has any genuine interest in _me_.”

Feldspar stops at that. “But you’re not denying that you like her?”

Sighing, “I wish I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because she has a reputation. And not a good one. Not that I usually believe rumors, but nearly everyone in Ishgard says she’s full of herself, or desperate for attention, or…”

Feldspar shifts uncomfortably before crossing his arms. “You’ve known her for a few days now, does any of it seem true?”

“Not really, no.” Erleanne shakes her head and abruptly changes the subject. “Let’s just get these books. And leave."

* * *

Rowena does them one better, offering a mostly-functional, albeit small, Garlean airship as payment, with plenty of airship parts for Erleanne to scavenge from… once they’ve flown it back to camp.

Feldspar practically kisses the ground at their return. Erleanne chuckles. “I’m a _great_ pilot, so you can stop with that.”

“If that’s so, I’d hate to fly with a bad-” Feldspar is cut off from his thought by the sight of his younger sister sprinting past him silently and into their house.

“What do you think-” Erleanne starts, but when they both can clearly hear Q’yantaa sob from inside, they know it can’t be anything good.


End file.
